Etiqueta: poetry
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«The Saturn Return Theory» by Karlyn Miraflor
«The Saturn Return Theory» by Karlyn Miraflor I sit in my lonely, hopeless and frantic of what could be.Startled by eyes prying on meTerrified of the future that awaits me; I glance through emergency exits helplessly.Contesting synergy between the younger me as I flinch with every passing memory. Regression slowly…
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«Composing» by Loralee Clark
A hawk flew into a window:delicate, white eyelids showing,sharp sickle talons frozen.Did she think she was headed into the sun?Like the summer I dove deep into the pond and becameturned around, unsure of the path to the surface, to air. She knew how to tell a story with the slow,…
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«Cranked Metal» by Margaret Kiernan
One timebefore I knewwhere I was goingI played in the stilledcar on blocks.I cranked the metal handleto start the engine.One timeI saw the black rubberon the runner board glide awaylike a silver-edged eel,a dog followedand barked,one dayI will bark and follow backto see where I goone day. Copyright © 2025…
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Ken Tomaro’s “Standing Lonely in the Alley” Is Available for Purchase!
You walk out the door for work on a Monday morning and immediately drop your coffee in the apartment hallway. You take a bad step on the stairs and almost do the splits. It’s raining and your umbrella is in the car which is in the parking lot 500 feet…
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Trijan Refrain #1: Cut Eve’s Apple and Share It by Selma Martin
We’ll cut Eve’s apple and share itYou’ll stay with me tonight We’ll drink its wine till we commit To add more to our light No lies no gloom to trip us up Only bliss to fill our dry cupsNo lies no gloomNo lies no gloomNot when it is time to…
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I Think I Understand, Yves by Shaun R. Pankoski
What you meant about blue,or more to the point, what you felt – after sitting in front of IKB 3that morning at the Pompidou. I could have sat there for hours,saturated. It’s how I feel about the sea, which is to say –infinite,dimensionless,immersive. The unholy holinessof ultramarine,a meditation. Copyright © 2025 Shaun R. PankoskiAll Rights…
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«NIRVANA AND WASHING RECYCLED FREEZER BAGS,» by Ray Whitaker
Wondering about interconnectivitythat word of seventeen letters therehere on the grounds of contextseated on a vine covered bench Doing the drudgery worka universal blessinglike the old worn afghanresiding on the living room couch. So many quiet peopleconcerned, standing silentlyyet moving forward in dynamic livesstill wash their underwear in suds The…
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«All Blues» by Ken Gierke
As I leave my doctor’s officeand head south out of Columbia,I hear a backbeatjoined by light piano and sax,a surge that could be my heartresponding to the news. The sky can’t decideif it wants to be pale azureor white clouds threaded with grayas I pass December-bare treesand brown-tinged cedarsthat offer…
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Sleep in voids by Bharath Upendra
She had tears in her eyes; I had vomit in my throat. Her pain was tender – red, raw, and human. Mine was silent – gray, rotting, and abstract. She wakes up in nightmares; I sleep in voids. I’m on the floor, lying to myself. She’s on the couch, battling…
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«sometimes,» by John Yamrus
sometimes, the most unexpected thingabout beauty, isfinding it gone. Copyright © 2025 John YamrusAll Rights Reserved
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«What They Found in the Hoarder’s Bedroom» by Jeanna Ní Ríordáin
Cobwebbed shelves & dusty mirrors,jewelry & gaudy trinkets Piles of clothes, old socks & shoes,garments strewn across the carpet Ticket stubs & dogeared books,pill boxes & perfume bottles Drawers filled with photo albums,love letters beneath the pillow. Copyright © 2025 Jeanna Ní RíordáinAll Rights Reserved
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«Poem Talking Itself to Sleep» by Dan Cuddy
after midnightnot the best time to writemind dull with fatigueno emotional issuesno vestal virginsor American Presidentsto write aboutand my sense of humorhas been let out like a catit will find its way backtomorrowtonight even the seriousthings become shadowsin a dark roomI feeling my way in the darkthis night of that…
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«Shoes» by R James Sennett Jr
Shoes at one timeweren’t worn.Grass, dirt and rocksscratched, cut and bruisedbutwas expected.Shoes skipped into our livesand like language,eventually became contractedand constrained.Ironicas they were meantto be more.Kids peel off shoesat the drop of a hat.They knowbecause they’re closerto the ground. Copyright © 2025 R James Sennett JrAll Rights Reserved
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The New Old People by Gerald Yelle
They want to know why the weeks all start with broken eggs. Well, maybe it’s the way their horses snicker. They blame the rider, but I say it’s the chickens. Neither feels right. It’s like our number sense is disconnected. They say it’s the end of one chapter and the…
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«bustling» by O.P. Jha
listen, behold, recognizeit’s a sparkit’s a splashit’s a seasoned timberit’s multifacetedit’s standing straight before the crownsboiled in a clay-pot,transformed into vapordiffused in the airand intermingled with the clouds,with the rainit mixed with the soilit grew in the womb of the Earthsprouted with green cropsmetamorphosed into grainsand became the life-breathsof floras…
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The Other Side by Laura Bennett
Image by Kevin from The Beginning at Last The time has come, I did my best Upon my final day of rest To live this life just one more time An older soul in body and mind Served my purpose, conscience clear Hearing the whisper of spirits near Calming peace…
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